Sleepsong
by Mystical Authoress
Summary: In a futuristic world where economic disparity is unresolved, wars have wreaked havoc and diseases are rotting up the entire world, there is a supposed 'Great Healer' that is supposed to be able to solve everyone's problems or something like that. Mewtwo decides to investigate.


**Author note: I do not own Super Smash Bros. I also don't own the song **'Red' by Camille Intson, **which helped inspire me to finish writing this. XDD**

**So it's been a while since I've written a Smash Bros fic, but I just had to write this. The writing style for me is a bit different than how I usually write, so please feel free to put in any Constructive Criticism in the reviews or any remarks as of what you think of it. Except for Flames. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows for s'mores. XD **

**Warning: Futuristic-world-is-falling-apart AU, Humanized!Mewtwo, Drug dealer!Palutena, violence**

**Constructive Criticism would be great, and I hope that you read, review and enjoy! Thanks! XD**

* * *

_**Sleepsong**_

* * *

A violet-haired man walked along the barren, grey road quietly, listening to the groaning of the dying, the wailing of the living, the silence of the dead.

The city was not the greatest place to be.

Hell, this world itself was not the greatest place to be. Used to be so vibrant, filled with life, with children running around and playing happily.

Nope. Not anymore.

War happened. _Too much_ war happened. People were displaced, over and over; lost their homes, spouses, children, food, everything.

The rich got richer, the poor got poorer. Anyone stuck in between fell to poverty or stayed stuck in between, like Mewtwo. He let out a slow breath, thinking about it. He took another step and heard a crinkling sound. Looking down, he used his pale hands to pick up the paper. Most people would have not touched the paper, especially if they weren't wearing gloves. Everyone was taking the diseases so seriously in the city-they wore those surgical-looking masks over their faces. Even the children wore those masks.

It made him feel sick, knowing that mankind itself had started its own downfall. The nuclear from the bombs during the wars in the past had mutated with common, everday illnesses, suddenly making them deadly. Scientists had created vaccines for now, but they were extremely expensive and only the rich and the lucky few in the middle class could afford them, leaving a good ninety-five percent of the world to just die off very slowly once they got infected.

Very, _agonizingly, _slowly.

Mewtwo read the paper quietly.

_Great Healer Palutena-guaranteed to give you relief from the pain of the world._

There was an address printed below as of where she resided.

Mewtwo couldn't help but laugh a little at this. A 'Great Healer' of some sort? Was this another word for 'prostitute,' 'assisted suicide person' or 'drug dealer?' Maybe all three. Usually when he saw things like this come up, it was obvious that the 'healing' provided was only a mere distraction for people to play with before their inevitable demise.

But then again, despite what it could possibly mean (prostitutes or something sketchy) there was something about it that Mewtwo couldn't ignore.

Maybe she was a drug dealer in disguise. But on the other hand, something with a title so grandiose as 'Great Healer' could mean a kind of shaman, medicine man, that kind of thing. Something more on the spiritual, rather than physical distraction, side.

That was what got Mewtwo interested. He grabbed the paper, stuffing it into the pocket of his black jeans before getting onto a nearby abandoned bike (it looked like there might have been bloodstains on the wheels but he didn't quite care right now) before pedaling to the location. It was on the outskirts of town, as far as he could figure from the address.

And he was sure that things would be interesting as he looked for a miracle.

* * *

He knocked on the rickety door, before he decided to ring the doorbell.

A woman answered his call, her hair dyed a cheap light green like the chameleons one can see in those nature magazines. She has white, but stained, thigh-highs with a stained white dress, stained with gold paint and some hints of red. She looks messy, like she's been painting something, and Mewtwo immediately assumes that this woman is Palutena.

She beckons him into the house. Blue and periwinkle shades cover the windows, crayon slathered across the walls. Palutena explains that the colours help put her patients, her clients, at ease. For some reason, Mewtwo doubts it. Like it's making them crazier and crazier the more they see the colours. She offers him her solution.

A bunch of drugs. Some kind of mixtures. Some you can throw into the drinks of others, others you have to eat without food. Some you can take in as large a dose as you want, but others need to be in smaller doses, otherwise they could kill you.

She's a drug dealer of sorts, he gets that. Nothing spiritual, not a shaman or anything. No miracles here. Well, that sucks.

He declines, decides to leave, but she's pushy and tells him that the drugs aren't harmful, really, and she offers to show him around the place so he can see what wonderful results have appeared from her concoctions.

He doesn't like the sound of it, but decides to accept a tour and see how rotten the people here really are.

Some of her residents are shut up in their rooms, writhing, affected by drugs as far as Mewtwo can figure out. One of them is a pretty blonde lady with a torn up pink dress, old needles lying around the room as she injects a new drug into her, money placed just outside the door for more of the drugs. Palutena takes the money, and leaves more needles and containers of strange drugs (in liquid form of course because that goes down faster) in its place.

They move on to a man with a bit of a pot belly and wearing a red shirt underneath his overalls, snorting up some kind of powder before he starts giggling insanely, foaming blue at the mouth (the same colour as said powder). He has this appeased, happy look on his face behind the ragged mustache but he's so so happy that he's crossing into insanity.

As Palutena keeps talking about the oh-so-wonderful sleepsong that comes with some other drugs, Mewtwo boils up a hurricaine in his head, raging and ready to strike in two moments.

How can humans be so stupid to wrap themselves in delusion that everything is fine when in reality everything is so fucked up!? How can they? Throwing stupid things into their systems that could kill them. They should be doing something to truly help.

Getting people high was not going to help solving a world that went through too much war, too many damned diseases.

Stupid foolish humans.

He can't handle Palutena's words laced with honey, describing the poisons of illusion, delusion, insanity, something so unreal.

He gets out a gun, and she stares and asks him to put the gun away, but he isn't going to listen to her talk about setting fire to other people's minds with drugs.

He shoots her.

He shoots every single resident with the gun he brought with him.

He doesn't like illusions. Never does. Never will, no matter who it is trying to persuade him to take drugs to 'forget' about reality (and really those drugs won't help anyone forget about the world as it is because reality will always crash down on them, it's inevitable). It's sick, really, humans going and doing what they can to wrap themselves in delusion so that they don't have to really think about those in need.

Red covers the ground, bloody red. All the druggies, and the drug dealer herself, are lying on the ground, bullets in their heads.

Mewtwo smiles and walks out of the house, takes his bike, goes into the city, and notices more flyers like the one he found earlier about Palutena stuck to the buildings and doors of the city. There must be lackeys working under her, he guesses.

So, he bites his thumb, lets it bleed, and writes the same message on every single one.

_Boycott the damn sleepsong and wake up already._

**_Do something._**


End file.
